


It Draws You, The Ice

by crazykookie



Category: Hockey RPF, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Epiphany, Gen, Hockey, Reincarnation, Storm Trooper, minor league hockey rpf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazykookie/pseuds/crazykookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>11, a Storm Trooper stationed on Hoth, discovers his past. A Minor League San Diego Gulls Hockey, Star Wars AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Draws You, The Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [specialrhino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/specialrhino/gifts).



> I am currently at this game.

11 was drawn towards the ice.

He walked out of his transport, onto the snow fluttering to the ground still, it crunching under his feet. 

As his boots reached the ice spread out in front of him, the sound of his footsteps was drowned out by another entirely. This one was in his head, evhoing like a long ago song, looming behind a dream. It was something clacking.

But this wasn't a dream.

No, 11 knew that he was certainly awake. The heat of the warm pack he had stuffed in his bag for this Hoth deployment emergencies was still on his fingers.

The wind whipped around the earholes on his helmet, a whirring storm

As he took three steps out onto the ice, it stopped.

A chant emerged, in the same plane of existence as the clacks. Not the stomping of the troopers, like at his academy graduation ceremony yesterday. 

"11! Return to the transport!" a trooper superior to him barked from behind. 

But he was glued to the ice. For the first time in his memory, his heart sang. It wasn't stabbed by fear of the lieutenant during training, or the agony of his parents being dragged away from him deep into his childhood. This was a warm swelling. He had to stay. The ice was telling him, whispering: "this is where you belong."

"11!" his lieutenant barked again.

But in his mind, in the air around him, streatching out to the snow bank across the ice and up into the clouds, he heard: "Let's go, Gulls," like a chant, but not the chant of hate he had been raised with. 

His soul sang for this. And he knew, knew as the lieutenant grabbed his arm and pulled him back from where he came, into the metal confines of the transport and the First Order, that this is where he would return, this is for what he would fight to be free. 

This.


End file.
